Freeze
by wrestlefan4
Summary: Angsty Matticho poetic oneshot thingy. I guess it's a poem, it could be a sonnet I guess, but I'm really not sure what a sonnet is. Technicalities...who needs em. Just try it and see what you think.


_**A/N: The "HE" that left is Matt…the one Matt left is Chris. I'm feeling really angsty today so this is what happened. I wrote it not really realizing I never used their names, but when I went to stick them in somewhere, it didn't feel right. I don't really care what people think of it. It's just me having a low mood and trying to get rid of it through the musi. I don't know what to call it…it's kind of in a poemish thing. A sonnet? I have no idea.**_

When he left there were no words to describe

the way everything the other lived for died.

There was supposed to be a future, filled with nothing but the two of them,

a love that one thought was carved from the ancient stones of time.

There was no mistaking how their hearts collided, their passionate beats keeping time with one an other,

a love no one would have imagined, could be ripped and torn asunder.

There was no doubting the sparks,

the fuel a kindred romance that made eyes glimmer like jewels,

there had never been anything more true, or he was just a fool.

He just left, no explanation, no goodbye,

just a cold brush of ice against a broken heart left inside.

It didn't matter how much the other pleaded, all pride usurped by pain.

It didn't matter when he fell to his knees,

grappling at his lovers pants cuff, groping at his shoes, only to be kicked again.

There was no word of reply, just the final catch of the door, the slam of it shaking

it closed like a vice pinching his soul like fingers caught mistaking,

inside his self bruising and breaking.

The sobs sounded like death tolls pealing,

his cries must have been heard through floor boards, the walls, the ceiling

as much as it hurt nothing could contain his moans, his twisted, bitter, wailing—

a funeral dirge for a man who would never see light again.

Darknesss came, cocooned in blankets, drapes drawn like mournful, lidded eyes.

The world could keep on turning, but here, it stagnantly drew flies.

There was no need for movement, barely for breath,

each aching gasp reminded of the scent on the pillow, where his only had laid his head.

There was no difference between wakefulness and sleep, or nightmare and reality to find

Life and nonexistence merged like taunting lovers blurring their subtle lines.

The silence around periodically was tortured with a whimper,

or the rustle of sheets as depression made him tremble.

There was no more reason, no more worth.

All of it was dust, swept away by a sickly mirth,

a breeze that taunted as it robbed.

So easily, so easily had it all been turned to sobs,

all been swept away, away.

Someone was prodding him awake. Comatose in the abyss

of his mind he could barely respond to consciousness,

his eyes refusing to open, his ears not well enough to hear.

No voice that touched them mattered, but the one he wanted to remain,

to softly caress his name, never spoken the same again.

At last he came around enough to squint, making out a fuzzy face,

his mind churning slowly to comprehend what or who it was and its place

She was just a passerby in his faded reel of life,

urging him to leave, he'd only booked his stay for one night.

Numbly he stumbled out, not even bothering to take his extra clothes or his shoes

They were just things, none of which mattered, they were just things that people used.

He weaved down the hallway, feeling like a drugged rat in some scientists maze,

no real reward at the end, just a sickening daze.

Out into the sunlight, it raped his eyes so blue,

blinding his senses but again, what did it matter, the hell if he knew.

The air around was frigid, it must have been winter, but who could remember still,

it could have just been his emptiness, washing him with chill.

Somewhere near the sidewalk littered with cracks,

he sat on a bench like a discarded sack.

People drifted by but he barely saw them,

and they saw even less of him.

But all in all, it had always been that way, it wasn't really new,

Though millions of people recognized his face, they never really knew.

He closed his eyes as snowflakes fluttered, tickling at his lips,

like reminiscent memories, of a lovers tender nips.

Tears stung, but only for a while, then they were lost--

The icy wind kissed them dry, and burned his cheeks with frost.

Soon the things around him, none noticing his pain,

winded down to just a drabble, then trickled all away.

The grey of day just darkened, into night descend,

and time seemed to have absconded, replaced only with the end.

At some point he had slumped over, laying down deep in his sleep

The moon spied down upon him, but her fingers could not reach

to wrap him in a blanket, or keep him from defeat.

When someone noticed, the day had smiled bright,

revealing some lost soul, who had passed within the night.

He seemed just like a transient, who'd been a victim to the cold,

The newspaper said he died of exposure, an accident they told.

They didn't know it was murder, a heart the butcheree—

Oh love has left me shivering, and in its absence, I freeze.


End file.
